The Broom Closet
by Hans the bold
Summary: Patty Mary comes to Glenoak to visit her brother Kevin. Please be advised that this story contains mature themes and is rated R for a reason.
1. One

This season, one of the first things that struck myself and most of the other posters on the 7th Heaven boards at Television Without Pity (http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com/) was how completely wooden and inauthentic the emotions of the character Kevin Kinkirk are. While the cause of this on the show itself is almost certainly just bad acting and bad writing, the effect has been to cause much speculation that the character of Kevin is emotionally off in some way. Many have speculated that Kevin fits all the warning signs of a future abuser, and this has in turn prompted a number of fine fanfiction stores depicting the future married relationship of Kevin and Lucy as an abusive one.  
  
But the kind of total emotional disconnection displayed by Kevin can have many causes, so I thought it would be interesting to explore another possible reason why he comes across the way he does. I warn the reader here that there are themes in this story that are pretty intense, so if you are bothered by unpleasantness, you should probably stop reading now.  
  
As always, these characters are owned by the WB, Brenda Hampton, and other Hollywood big shots. I'm only using them because this story needs to be told in some form or another and 7th Heaven is a good way to do it. The story itself is of course (c) 2002 by Hans the bold.  
  
  
ONE  
* * *  
  
You think my name is silly.  
  
I know you do; everyone does. Everyone hears it and they do a double take and they ask to hear it again. A silly name, they say, and you wonder what my parents must have been thinking to give it to me.  
  
I don't, though. I have more serious things to do.  
  
For the record, it isn't Patty Mary. It's Patricia Marie, affectionately shortened into a joke. This started with my brothers, I suppose, when we were little. There were just the three of us: Kevin, Ben and I. A good Irish Catholic family from the East Coast. The Irish part doesn't really matter to me; I've never been to Ireland and have never really cared to go. I'm an American and so are my brothers.  
  
You want to know why I'm writing this, I suppose. I suppose I want to know too. Maybe it's because I just have to; have you ever thought about that? Maybe it's because there comes a time when you can't keep things hidden anymore, a time when you have to get them out or you will lose it.  
  
I don't want to lose it. I don't want to wake up crying anymore.  
  
#  
  
Kevin understands.  
  
People look at him, at my big brother, and they wonder what to think. He's flat, they say. No emotion. You never know what's going on in his head. He scares some people that way, and I guess I can see why. Kevin never emotes, never seems to really react to anything. He's like a cyborg; remember that second Terminator movie, the robot made of liquid metal? Like that.  
  
This makes it hard for him to make jokes, though he tries to. It's a little easier for Ben, because Ben is like our dad and smiles come more easily to him. But at least Ben is all right; Ben isn't all torn up inside.  
  
Not like me and Kevin.  
  
This is hard. I'm sorry, but it is.  
  
Because Kevin, you see, is going to get married. He just called me the other day and told me. It's to that girl Lucy Camden, that daughter of the Minister. I met her once, her and her sister and some of the other members of her family, when I went over to their house to get Kevin and Ben and try to get them to go home and help Mom. Lucy has a big family and all I remember from talking to them was how crazy they all seemed.  
  
Lucy was the craziest. I swear, that girl is a ditz.  
  
A ditz who is going to marry my brother.  
  
I have to talk to him first.  
  
I have to make sure he knows what he is doing. 


	2. Two

TWO  
* * *  
  
And here I am. He's living at their house, that big house that belongs to their church. They've converted the space above their garage into an apartment and Kevin pays them rent to stay there. I know it's because of Lucy, because he wants to be near her. He needs her, like he needed Mom when he lived with her.  
  
Mrs. Camden answers the front door. She seems nice enough, though I can see the strain in her face, like she's worried all the time. I've heard from my brothers that the Minister and Mrs. Camden like to be really involved in their children's lives.  
  
Are you why Lucy is a ditz, Annie Camden?  
  
I say nothing, save for pleasantries. She pours me some tea in the kitchen.  
  
"It's so good to have your brother here, Patty Mary," she says. "Since Matt went off to medical school Kevin's been like a big brother to Ruthie and the twins."  
  
I nod and say nothing. He's my big brother, Annie. You have no idea what kind of a big brother he really is.  
  
She smiles and we make idle chitchat. I'm good at idle chitchat.  
  
Nice lady. No clue.  
  
And she won't get one from me.  
  
#  
  
He's surprised to see me, Kevin is, though he tries to hide it. Lucy is with him; she met him as they got off work and just now she's giggling like a twelve year old. He is like he always is; featureless, stiff.  
  
"Patty Mary?" he asks.  
  
I rise.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"We've been having a nice little chat," Annie pipes in.  
  
Lucy looks at her mother, her gaze an accusation.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Kevin asks me.  
  
"We need to talk," I tell him.  
  
Lucy's glare shifts to me.  
  
"About what?" she asks.  
  
I return the glare. Don't cross me, little girl. I will melt you down.  
  
"Family things," I say.  
  
She's holding his arm. She puts on her irritating smile.  
  
"Well, I don't know if you've heard, but Kevin is going to ask me to marry him. That means I'm family."  
  
"Not in this case," I tell her.  
  
Her glare turns to sudden rage. Has no one ever said "no" to this girl?  
  
"Patty Mary --" Kevin begins.  
  
I give him the face he knows. He knows why, too. He knows why I'm here and he doesn't like it. But I think he's known all along that this time would come.  
  
"I've got my car outside," I tell him. "Let's go."  
  
"He's not going anywhere without me," Lucy insists.  
  
Now Kevin sighs. He takes her hand from his arm and pats it affectionately. "I guess I have to," he says. "We won't be long."  
  
I've seen a lot in my time, a lot more than you might think. But I've never seen a girl get so mad so fast as Lucy Camden does.  
  
"This is about another woman, isn't it? Some woman you won't tell me about!"  
  
His face does not change. It never changes. Sometimes I wish it would, for all our sakes. He leans forward, kisses her on the forehead.  
  
"No," he says. "It's not."  
  
"Then what? What am I supposed to believe? You won't tell me anything! Well, then you can just get out! Go! Move out!"  
  
He puts on that smile he has, the smile I know that no one else knows. People think it's because he doesn't feel, that it's because he doesn't care, that he puts on that smile, but I know better.  
  
"Just relax," he says to her. "We'll be back in a little while. It's nothing you need to worry about."  
  
I want to call him a liar now, because he is. If she does marry him, God help us, she'll find out.  
  
And I'll lay money down that she won't be able to handle it.  
  
After all, have we? 


	3. Three

THREE  
* * *  
  
I drive him out of town, out of Glenoak. He doesn't say much, but he doesn't have to. The facade is gone, vanished, the stiff, confident, smug face he wears for the world disappearing as we clear the city limits. It isn't Kevin the policeman anymore, not Kevin the rugged, quiet, polite man with all the answers. He's my brother now; he knows I can see through the lies he wears and so he lets them down.  
  
Just a little boy in a policeman's outfit.  
  
I find a side road, pull off, park the car. I open my door. He doesn't move.  
  
"Come on," I say to him.  
  
"I don't want to," he says softly.  
  
"We need to talk," I say. "It'll get too hot in the car."  
  
"Don't care."  
  
I reach over, touch him gently on the shoulder. The fabric of his uniform shirt is stiff, a bit coarse.  
  
"Come on, Kev. You know it's important."  
  
He tenses, shakes his head. He looks very small.  
  
In time he climbs out. I lock the car and we walk across a nearby field to sit under the shade of an old tree.  
  
"How've you been?" I ask him.  
  
"Fine."  
  
I sit down next to him. I've heard that men don't like to look you in the eye when they talk, but I wish, this time, that he would.  
  
"I'm glad you sent Ben back to Buffalo," I say.  
  
"I had to."  
  
"Mom was laughing when she told me why he ran away."  
  
He cracks a grin. "Like she's never seen one before."  
  
"Must have been quite a sight, her walking in on him and Janice."  
  
Ben. Ben doesn't know, never has.  
  
Never will.  
  
We sit silently for a while. A soft breeze rustles the leaves above us.  
  
"You love her?" I ask gently. "You really love Lucy?"  
  
He nods.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"But she doesn't know."  
  
"No," he says. "She doesn't have to."  
  
"You're going to marry her, Kev. Doesn't she have a right to know?"  
  
"No! She doesn't!" he shouts.  
  
I don't react. I never have, never will. He gets angry like this sometimes, Kevin does, and I know he won't hurt me. Instead I just go silent. Instead I just remember.  
  
Remember. 


	4. Four

FOUR  
* * *  
  
It was he and I; always just he and I. I suppose when these things first happen you don't really register it; in fact it's hard for me to remember all the details of the first time, or even the times after that. I suppose it must be the same for him.  
  
But details aren't really what's important anyway. Those wounds can heal.  
  
It's what it does to your insides that never goes away.  
  
Go away. Go away.  
  
That's what I said. I remember that for sure. Because even then I knew it was wrong. I knew that priests weren't supposed to do these things, and I told him he shouldn't, but he did.  
  
Kevin told him too.  
  
But he did. And did. And did.  
  
You know, the funny thing is that I know it was years. Years and years. Years and years and no one knew. Just he and Kevin and I. The tastes of such men vary, I suppose, and sometimes he wanted me and sometimes he wanted Kevin. And I hate myself, too, because of how easy it was for him; you did not challenge priests, did not challenge the Mother Church. It was too easy to sin, too easy for him to give you the wrong absolution when you confessed, condemning you to Hell, and I remember the one time I hinted that I would tell my parents how he told me that they would never believe me, because he was a man of God and no one would believe a misbehaving little girl like me over him.  
  
I don't know if he ever told Kevin anything like that. All I know is that neither of us ever told anyone, even later.  
  
Not even Ben.  
  
#  
  
Because Ben was our one small success, our one small triumph in the darkness. There was that one night, late, when Kevin and I met secretly. I can still remember the silence in our house as we whispered, he in his Superman pajamas and me in my flannel nightgown, in the broom closet under the stairs, a flashlight our only illumination.  
  
Odd. I can remember the silence, but not the exact words.  
  
I don't suppose the exact words matter, though.  
  
Ben.  
  
We had each seen the priest's eyes, on him, as he sat in church, in our youth group. We had each seen him go to our brother, had each heard him as he told Ben to meet him later. We had each seen Ben nod, his eyes so trusting.  
  
And then Kevin had stood. He had stepped to the priest and had looked him in the eye.  
  
"Take me instead, Father."  
  
#  
  
Oh God, the eyes of the man. On my brothers, looking them over, like he was choosing a cut of meat for tonight's dinner. The eyes still haunt me, still give me nightmares. And his nod, too, because he knew he had won, knew that he owned Kevin and I, now and forever, that Ben was the price we would pay for our submission.  
  
Ben. My dear, beloved brother Ben.  
  
You will never know what Kevin gave up for you.  
  
What I gave up. 


	5. Five

FIVE  
* * *  
  
I look at Kevin now. A man, a handsome man, is my brother. I can see why silly, jealous Lucy Camden wants him. I know what kind of girl she is and I envy her. For all your world to be your love for a handsome man, what must that be like? For all your world to be your family, your big, strange, silly family, without a care in the world? What is your life like, Lucy Camden, that you can afford to be such a ditz?  
  
What is your deepest shame, Lucy?  
  
"She deserves to know," I tell him. "She is going to share your life, your bed. She has a right to know what happened."  
  
"No!"  
  
He stands. His hands are balled into fists as he glares down at me.  
  
I watch him back. He says nothing.  
  
In time he sits down again.  
  
"You love her," I say softly.  
  
He nods.  
  
"But she won't love me," he answers. "Not if she knows."  
  
I do not answer. I do not know Lucy Camden; I have seen her all of twice in my life and each time she behaved like a child. But Kevin loves her; he has seen something in her that I do not.  
  
"Why?" I ask. "Why won't she love you?"  
  
He looks at me now, and his eyes are wet with tears.  
  
"Look at her family, Patty Mary. Her father's a Minister. They don't even like to say the word 'sex' in that house. I heard one story that they once completely freaked out over a condom. Don't you see? Lucy's innocent. She doesn't know the world, the way things are. How could a girl like her ever love me, if she knew what I've done?"  
  
#  
  
They say, you know, that you can't blame the victim. They say that it is wrong to point your finger at someone who has been raped or molested and say that it is their fault. And they're right, but actions speak louder than words. If your car is stolen, you are the victim and the robber is the perpetrator. Simple. But when it is a sexual, intimate crime there is always the stain, the unspoken mark that you will wear forever, that you were broken, violated, used. There is always the sense, even among the most well meaning of people, that you are dirty somehow, that you are now a wrong thing in the universe.  
  
Even in pity, this is strong.  
  
It is stronger still in the silence of shame. 


	6. Six

SIX  
* * *  
  
The oath.  
  
There, in the darkness of the broom closet, we swore it.  
  
Never Ben. He must never know, never suspect. Kevin must be the perfect older brother, and I the perfect sister. Our surrender must protect him, and we must never protest.  
  
Never.  
  
Never.  
  
We swore it to God almighty.  
  
#  
  
A year, two years, three years. A part of you dies each time, in the shame and the disgust. And a part of you grows thick, like a scab, and this part becomes all you are, when you are with the one who touches you. This part of you is there, but the rest is not. The rest learns to be far away, and in time the scab is all there is, all that you know how to show the world. I think this was easier for Kevin than it was for me, because what a man is supposed to be is cold, unemotional. That Kevin became more so than most matters little. That Kevin's life became the lie that it became is unimportant; he is a man, and men are not supposed to cry.  
  
Three years, then four. I was no longer a little girl, Kevin no longer a little boy. But in a sense we both still are; he hides behind his wooden facade, and I fled our family for the West Coast. There was no choice for either of us, for in the end, our abuser escaped us.  
  
#  
  
Do they laugh at you from the grave?  
  
I wondered this, as I and Kevin and our parents and Ben joined with the community in remembering him. He was not so old, they said. Not so young, of course, but not so old. There was a future in the church ahead of him; perhaps she would have been a bishop, even a cardinal. He was a loyal, devoted man of God. He was loved by his flock, and he ministered to them well. One by one and again and again the people said these things, gave testimony to his selflessness, to all that he had given to young and old alike.  
  
A career cut down by a weak heart. He had always loved his rich foods.  
  
The new priest was a good man, honest and hardworking and caring. But it was too late for Kevin and I; we had been betrayed by the very thing we most needed. I remember one day, kneeling in the foremost pew of the cathedral, my hands clasped in prayer as I looked up at Christ on the cross.  
  
You bore so much, took on our sins, endured the humiliation and pain of the crucifixion. But as I pray to you now, you do not answer. Where is your love, the love of the Mother Church for its weakest, for those most vulnerable, those most in need? The Pope and the Cardinals and the Bishops wrap themselves in power and wealth, and their servants are free to do what was done to me? Where is the justice of your church, God? What price will the priest who abused my brother and I pay for his sins? Has he received your forgiveness while we live in pain? 


	7. Seven

SEVEN  
* * *  
  
I have no answer for my brother, not in this. But as I watch him there, under the shade of the large, old tree, I see again why he loves Lucy Camden. It is not that she is attractive; she is in fact no more or less so than a million and a million other girls. And it is not because she is mature, for she is not that at all. It is not even because she is kind, for whatever kindness there may be in her is often and frequently lost in the selfishness and the immaturity that is the result of her sheltered life.  
  
No. Kevin loves her because he needs her. She is what our mother, unknowing, once was: love, and support, ignorant as to why and yet loyal.  
  
It is common knowledge now, what was done to children like Kevin and me, even though he and I have remained silent for the sake of Ben, for the sake of the oath we both swore so long ago. It is a great scandal that has shaken the Church to its foundations. At first it was denied, then kept hidden, that some men who claimed God as their domain were in fact monsters who abused and molested children. But now there is some justice, however slow and little, in the workings of the secular courts. Rome, in its distant, aloof piety, has been called to task by the voices of those who she in her denial has wronged. And I wonder sometimes, as I fear the nightmares that so often come with sleep, if they knew about the man, the priest, who made Kevin's face so stiff, so wooden, and who made it impossible for me to even endure the touch of a man against my skin. I wonder if they knew, at the lavish funeral of this honored priest, hearing all the words of praise, what he really was.  
  
And I wonder if they will ever suspect the challenge that he has, even in death, placed upon my brother and the unknowing girl Lucy Camden who will someday soon become my brother's wife. Will Lucy Camden be able to understand when Kevin cannot satisfy her passions, when he is unable to look upon her despite his love, because of what he has endured?  
  
I don't know. But as Kevin and I drive back into Glenoak to where his future bride awaits, I find myself wondering and doubting again if she will be equal to the task that lies ahead for her.  
  
THE END 


End file.
